The Concubine's Tattoo

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Caught off guard, Reiko dodged too late; the blade missed her heart, but cut her shoulder. Then they were fighting again, with Reiko’s back to the precipice and Lady Miyagi between her and Sano. Sano sheathed his sword and seized Lady Miyagi from behind, locking his hands around hers on the hilt of the dagger. As they grappled for control of the weapon, she fell forward on top of Reiko. Sano fell with her. They landed at the very edge, heads extended into empty space.

  Reiko screamed, slashing Lady Miyagi’s face with her dagger. Lady Miyagi howled. Sano wrenched the weapon away from her. At the same moment, she bucked, throwing him free. Then Reiko gave an enormous heave. Like an acrobat in a street show, Lady Miyagi flipped heels over head. Hands clawing wildly at Reiko, she soared into the air over the precipice and seemed to hang there for an instant. Sano threw himself on top of Reiko, anchoring her. Then Lady Miyagi plummeted out of sight. A high, thin scream followed her. There was a series of diminishing thuds as her body struck the rocks. Then silence.

  Sano helped Reiko to her feet. Arms tight around each other, they peered down into the darkness. The moonlight gleamed faintly on Lady Miyagi’s robes. She didn’t move.

  Hirata ran up to them, carrying Lieutenant Kushida’s spear and his own sword. He bled from cuts on his hands, arms, and face. “Kushida is wounded, but he’ll live. What happened here? Are you all right?”

  Sano explained. Then he, Reiko, and Hirata were suddenly locked in a fierce embrace, faces pressed together. A catharsis of weeping shook them. As their blood and tears mingled, Sano experienced a deeper satisfaction than ever before at the end of a case. His wife was safe, his dearest comrade restored to honor. Each of them had played a crucial role in the investigation. Their shared victory was infinitely sweeter than the lone heroics of Sano’s past.

  “Let’s wake up our troops and go home,” he said, wiping tears from his cheeks.

  Still embracing, with Sano in the middle, they started down the hill.

  40

  Three days after the death of Lord and Lady Miyagi, a guard captain escorted Chamberlain Yanagisawa to the shogun’s private audience chamber. A banner printed with the characters for secrecy decorated the entrance, indicating that a meeting of extremely confidential nature was in session. Sentries stood outside, ready to repel intruders.

  “Please go right in, Honorable Chamberlain,” said his escort. “His Excellency awaits you.”

  Somewhere in the city below Edo Castle, a funeral drum beat. As the guards opened the door, Yanagisawa swallowed the metallic taste of fear. His destiny would be determined here and now.

  Inside the chamber, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi knelt upon the dais. On the floor to his left, Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko sat side by side. The shogun’s mother glared at Yanagisawa, then turned away in a huff. Ryuko flashed the chamberlain a glance of smug triumph before respectfully lowering his eyes. Opposite them, in the place of honor at the shogun’s right, knelt Sōsakan Sano, his expression carefully neutral.

  A volcano of jealous hatred erupted in Yanagisawa. The sight of his enemy occupying his own usual position seemed a realization of his worst nightmare—that Sano had replaced him as their lord’s favorite. Yanagisawa wanted to rail against the outrage, but a crude display of temper would ill serve his interests. His whole future depended upon skillful handling of the situation. He needed to remain in absolute control. Kneeling before the dais, he bowed to the shogun.

  “Good morning, Yanagisawa-san,” said Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. His voice held none of its customary affection, and he didn’t smile. “It is unfortunate that this session must interfere with your, ahh, administrative duties.”

  “On the contrary—I’m honored to be called to your presence at any time.” Although the chilly reception filled him with dread, Yanagisawa spoke as if he had no idea that this secret meeting had been called because his plot against Sano had backfired and he was now facing treason charges. “My service is yours to command.”

  “I have summoned you here to resolve some, ahh, serious issues that have been raised by Sōsakan Sano and my honorable mother,” said the shogun, nervously toying with his fan.

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s heart thumped like a wild creature trying to escape the cage of his body. Though he’d envisioned this scene countless times since Ryuko had come to his office, the reality was still terrible. He must conquer his fear and concentrate on repairing the damage he’d done himself.

  “Certainly I shall cooperate in any way I can, Your Excellency.” Yanagisawa made his expression reflect puzzlement and a somber eagerness to please, inserting just the right note of innocence into his voice. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “It appears that you have, ahh, tried to frame my beloved mother for the murder of Lady Harume, and to ruin my dear, loyal Sōsakan by forcing him to accuse her. This is not only treason of the, ahh, highest order, but also a personal betrayal.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s voice was high and tight; tears glistened in his eyes. Lady Keisho-in muttered angrily as she patted her son’s hand. Ryuko smiled ever so slightly at Yanagisawa, while Sano watched everyone with wary alertness. “For fifteen years I’ve given you everything you desire—land, money, power. And you repaid my, ahh, generosity by attacking my family and my friend. This is an outrage!”

  “It would be if it were true,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa said, “but I can assure you that it is absolutely not.” Sweat drenched his armpits and his hands turned to ice, but he knew exactly what he must do. Letting shock and hurt register on his face, but careful not to overact, he said, “Your Excellency, whatever led you to believe I committed such heinous acts?”

  “Ahh—” The shogun gulped and blinked. Overcome by emotion, he gestured weakly toward Sano.

  “You ordered Shichisaburo to plant a letter written by Lady Keisho-in among Harume’s possessions for me to find,” Sano said.

  The sōsakan-sama’s cautious tone signaled his knowledge that the battle wasn’t over, despite Keisho-in’s smirk and Ryuko’s veiled gloating. While Sano explained how the ruse had been discovered, Yanagisawa shook his head in dismay, then let feigned anger harden his features.

  “Shichisaburo acted without my orders or my knowledge,” he said.

  Lady Keisho-in gasped. “Incredible!” Ryuko’s eyes narrowed. Sano frowned.

  “Is that so?” Hope lifted the shogun’s voice. “Do you mean that it’s all the boy’s fault, and you had nothing to do with the, ahh, plot against my mother and the Sōsakan-sama?”

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa felt the weight of victory shift in his direction. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi still cared for him, desiring reconciliation as much as justice. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  The shogun smiled in relief. “It seems we’ve misjudged you, Yanagisawa-san. A thousand pardons.”

  Now the double purposes of Yanagisawa’s plan came together. Shichisaburo would take the blame for the failed plot, and the natural course of events would end their affair. No longer would he awaken dangerous cravings in Yanagisawa, or undermine his judgment and strength. Yanagisawa bowed, humbly accepting the shogun’s apology, preparing for the next round.

  Just as he’d expected, Sano said, “I suggest that Shichisaburo be allowed to tell his version of the story.”

  “Oh, very well,” the shogun said indulgently.

  Soon Shichisaburo was kneeling before the dais at Yanagisawa’s side. Worry pinched his small face. He looked to Yanagisawa for reassurance, but the chamberlain refused to meet his lover’s gaze. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the despicable creature.

  “Shichisaburo, I want you to tell us the truth,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said. “Did you, upon your own initiative, without, ahh, directions from anyone else, steal a letter written by my mother and hide it in Lady Harume’s room?”

  Of course the boy would spill the whole story, Chamberlain Yanagisawa knew. But it was a humble actor’s word against his own, and he could easily make Shichisaburo look like a liar.

  “Yes, Your Excellency, I did,” said
Shichisaburo.

  Yanagisawa stared at him, astonished. Excited mutters arose from Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko; the shogun nodded. Sano said, “Your Excellency, I think that the present company is intimidating Shichisaburo. We’ll have a better chance of learning the truth if you and I speak to him privately.”

  “No!” Shichisaburo’s cry rang out. Then his voice dropped. “I’m all right. And I—I am telling the truth.”

  Confusion rendered Chamberlain Yanagisawa speechless. Was the actor crazy, or just stupid?

  “Do you realize that you are admitting that you, ahh, tried to frame my mother for murder?” the shogun asked Shichisaburo. “Do you understand that this is treason?”

  Trembling visibly, the boy whispered, “Yes, Your Excellency. I am a traitor.”

  Tokugawa Tsunayoshi sighed. “Then I must condemn you to death.”

  While guards chained Shichisaburo’s arms and legs for the trip to the execution ground, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi looked away from the distasteful sight. Lady Keisho-in burst into tears. Glaring at Yanagisawa, Priest Ryuko comforted her. Sano’s face mirrored dismay and resignation. Chamberlain Yanagisawa waited for the actor to plead for his life, to incriminate his master in an effort to save himself, to protest the betrayal. Yet Shichisaburo passively accepted his fate. As the soldiers led him to the door, he turned to Yanagisawa.

  “I’d do anything for you.” Though his complexion had gone as white as ice, love blazed from his dark eyes; he spoke with reverence and joy. “Now it is my privilege to die for you.”

  Then he was gone. The door slammed behind him.

  “Well,” said Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, “I am glad that the, ahh, misunderstanding has been cleared up and this unpleasant business resolved. Sōsakan Sano, move over. Come and sit by me, Yanagisawa-san.”

  But Chamberlain Yanagisawa, stunned by what had just happened, sat staring after Shichisaburo. For his sake, the actor had willingly made the ultimate sacrifice. Instead of relief, Yanagisawa experienced an agonizing onslaught of grief, regret, and horror. He realized that he’d just destroyed the only person in the world who truly cared for him. Too late, he perceived the value of Shichisaburo’s love, and the desolate void it left behind.

  Come back! he wanted to shout.

  Yet even as he considered admitting that he, not the actor, had instigated the plot, he knew he wouldn’t. Selfishness outweighed his capacity for doing what was right—and for love. Now he saw the ugly flaw in his character. He was as worthless as his parents had claimed. Surely this was why they’d withheld their affection from him.

  “Yanagisawa-san?” The shogun’s peevish voice penetrated his misery. “I told you to come here.”

  Yanagisawa obeyed, líie howling emptiness inside him eroded his soul, growing deeper and darker, never to be filled. Ahead of him stretched a life populated with slaves and sycophants, political allies and enemies, superiors and rivals. But there was no one to nurture his starved heart, or mend his damaged spirit. Unloving and unloved, he was doomed.

  “You look ill,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said. “Is something the matter?”

  Seated opposite Yanagisawa in a hostile trio were Sōsakan Sano, Lady Keisho-in, and Priest Ryuko. He could tell that they knew the truth about Shichisaburo’s confession and his own role in the plot. They didn’t intend to let him get away with attacking them. This battle was over, but the war continued—with his rivals united against him.

  “Everything’s fine,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa said.

  Hirata walked through Edo Castle’s herb garden, where he’d ordered Lady Ichiteru to meet him. A blanket of murky cloud covered the sky, with the sun a diffuse white glow above the palace rooftops. Soaring crows cawed. Frost had withered the beds of herbs, though their pungent scents lingered. Gardeners swept the paths; in a long shed, the castle pharmacist and his apprentices prepared remedies. Lady Ichiteru’s attendants waited at the gate. This time Hirata had deliberately arranged circumstances to preclude seduction, while providing enough privacy for what he intended to be their last conversation.

  He found Ichiteru alone beside a pond in which lotus bloomed in summer. Standing with her back to him, she contemplated the tangled mat of foliage. She wore a gray cloak; a black veil covered her hair. Hirata could tell by the way her spine stiffened that she was aware of his presence, but she didn’t turn. So much the better: he could speak his mind without succumbing to her allure.

  “It was you who gave Lady Harume the poison that made her sick last summer, wasn’t it?” Hirata said. “It was you she feared, and begged her father to rescue her from.”

  “So what if it was me?” Indifference dulled Ichiteru’s husky voice. “You have no proof.”

  She was right. Hirata had spent the past three days investigating the incident, and had eliminated the other palace residents as suspects. He knew Ichiteru was guilty, but he’d found no evidence against her, and since she was obviously not about to confess, there was nothing he could do. Ichiteru had gotten away with attempted murder, as well as making a fool of him. Angry humiliation stung Hirata.

  “I know you did it,” he said. “Since you didn’t kill Harume, it’s the only explanation for how you treated me. You were afraid the Sōsakan-sama would discover that you were responsible for the earlier poisoning, and you wanted Lady Keisho-in convicted of Harume’s murder. So you used me.”

  Seething inside, Hirata continued, “I bet you’re pretty pleased with the way things turned out. But hear this: I know what you are—a murderess in spirit if not in fact. And I’m warning you: Cause trouble again, and I’ll come after you. Then you’ll get the punishment you deserve.”

  “Punishment?” Lady Ichiteru gave a disdainful laugh. “What can you do to me that’s worse than the future that already lies ahead?”

  She turned; her veil slipped. Hirata stared in shock. Ichiteru wore no makeup. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping, her pale lips bloated. Her bare skin looked mottled and sallow, and she wore her hair in an untidy knot devoid of ornaments. Hirata barely recognized this plain figure as the woman who had captivated him.

  “What happened to you?” he said.

  “Tomorrow, fifteen new concubines arrive in the Large Interior. I was just informed that I am one of the women who will be dismissed to make room for them—three months short of my official retirement date!” Lady Ichiteru’s voice shook with fury. “I’ve lost my chance to bear the shogun an heir and become his consort. I shall return to Kyoto with nothing to show for thirteen years of degradation and pain. I’ll spend the rest of my life as an impoverished spinster, a despised symbol of the imperial family’s failed hopes for a restoration to glory.”

  Sneering at Hirata, Lady Ichiteru said, “I apologize for what I did to you, but you’ll get over it. And whenever you think of me, you can laugh!”

  Hirata’s need for vengeance dissolved. His attraction to Ichiteru had vanished with the artificial trappings of fashion and manner; her bitterness repelled him. Finally he could forgive and even pity Ichiteru. Her fate was indeed her punishment. His own concerns seemed trivial in comparison.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  He would have wished her luck, or offered polite words of comfort, but Lady Ichiteru turned away. “Leave me.”

  “Good-bye, then,” Hirata said.

  Walking back through the garden, he felt years older than when he’d begun the investigation. The experience had fostered wisdom. Never again would he allow a murder suspect to manipulate him. Yet the departure of the strong emotions he’d had toward Ichiteru left a vacancy in his spirit. He should attend to other cases before Sano’s wedding banquet, scheduled for that evening, but Hirata was too restless for work. Filled with vague yearnings, he entered the forest preserve, hoping that a solitary stroll would clear his mind.

  He’d no sooner started down a path when a hesitant voice spoke behind him. “Hello, Hirata-sarc.”

  Turning, he saw Midori approaching. “Hello,” he said.

  “I took th
e liberty of following you from the herb garden because I thought—I hoped—you might like company.” Blushing, Midori fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I’ll go away if you don’t want me.”

  “No, no. I’d be grateful for your company,” Hirata said, meaning it.

  They wandered between birches that dropped golden leaves upon them. For the first time since they’d met, Hirata really looked at her. He saw the beauty in her clear, direct gaze, her guileless behavior. He could understand his infatuation with Lady Ichiteru as a sickness that had blinded him to good things, including Midori. Thinking about the conversations he’d enjoyed with her, Hirata remembered something.

  “You knew that Ichiteru tried to kill Harume last summer, didn’t you?” he said. “And you tried to warn me that she planned to use me to make sure she would never be arrested for the murder.”

  Hiding her face behind the shiny curtain of her hair, Midori looked at the ground. “I wasn’t sure, but I suspected…And I didn’t want her to hurt you.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so? I know I must not have seemed very eager to listen, but you could have spoken up, or written me a letter, or told the Sōsakan-sama”

  “I was too afraid,” Midori said unhappily. “You admire her so. I thought that if I said anything bad about her, you’d think I was lying. You’d hate me.”

  That a highborn girl could not only care about him, but also want him to think well of her, amazed Hirata. Now he realized that she’d liked him all along. She didn’t care about his humble origins. Midori’s honest tribute lifted him free of the prison of insecurity. It no longer mattered that he lacked noble lineage or cultured elegance. His life’s achievements—the true manifestations of honor—would suffice. Hirata suddenly wanted to laugh with exultation. How strange that his most humiliating experience should also bring the gift of revelation!

  Touching Midori’s shoulder, he turned her to face him. “I don’t admire Lady Ichiteru anymore,” he said. “And I could never hate you.”